


unto crowns (fearless minds soonest climb)

by justromandaydreams



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Sad smut, post-Suzuka feels, so many allusions, that should be a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 10:07:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justromandaydreams/pseuds/justromandaydreams
Summary: Charles is shirtless, clad in only silk black pajama pants, arms placed on the edge of the balcony. A boy king surveying his kingdom.





	unto crowns (fearless minds soonest climb)

It has to be sin.

An angel kneels at his feet. Moonlight flickers through the curtains, a pool of silver on the floor.

Lewis had seen the images of Charles’ visit to Maranello. The just-turned twenty-two-year-old had been surrounded by adoring fans. Everyone vying for a glimpse of the golden child. Even the sun seemed to bend in his presence.

All kneel.

The rays frame him, a golden crown for Ferrari’s prince.

And now he has Charles all to himself. A champion’s prize. To do with what he will.

“Do your worst,” Charles purred into his ear, all soft skin and taunt muscles.

“Oh, I will,” Lewis said, running a hand over his suppliant Adonis.

He won’t though. Not really. Life had thrown far too many harsh blows at Monegasque. And Charles to his unfailing credit, has taken them in stride.

He’s beautiful inside and out, more than any glittering gem or priceless painting.

And beautiful things should be valued, protected, treated with care.

So, Lewis grabs Charles by the arm, pulling him up into a gentle kiss. Normally Charles would melt, hard angles softened, walks crumbling.

Jericho.

But now he twists away, eyes troubled, flickering with ghosts Lewis knows he can suppress but never shake.

“No, really. Lewis. Do. It.” Charles scrabbles at Lewis’ chest, trying to find purchase on inky skin. He drops back down to his knees, hands reaching out and grabbing Lewis’ thighs.

Charles looks so tempting, all wide eyes and bruised knees. He just can’t resist.

Can you shatter a gem or shred a painting if they themselves are whispering in your ear to do so?

May God forgive him.

What follows is vicious, verging on brutal. Lewis takes all the anger and frustration he felt in Sochi while Valtteri pulled away in front and lets it flow into the man he has pinned beneath him.

It’s like some kind of fucked up therapeutic exercise.

When it’s over, they lay in bed together, Lewis spent, Charles quiet on the other side. The Briton turns and wraps an arm around the shoulders of the Monegasque, too tired to notice how the driver tensed.

Lewis doesn’t know what wakes him in the middle of the night. He shivers, the body warmth of Charles gone. His side of the bed cool.

Lewis pushes himself upright, looking around the dark room, heart pounding. Had Charles left in the middle of the night? No. There are his shoes sitting neatly in the corner. So, where the hell is he? Lewis gets out of bed, grabbing a robe and a pair of slippers.

The door out to his balcony is open, a sharp wind blowing through the living area. Lewis shivers, pulling his robe tighter. It is an unusually cold night for October in Monaco.

He has a feeling what he is going to find when he steps outside, but the reality still put a pang through his heart.

Charles is shirtless, clad in only black pajama pants, arms placed on the edge of the balcony. A boy king surveying his kingdom. Ferrari’s prodigy takes a deep breath, staring up at the sky before allowing his head to fall.

“Charles?” Lewis places a hand on Charles’ back, alarmed by how cold the skin was. How long has he been out here? “What’s going on?”

“I almost killed you.” Charles refuses to turn around, back hunched.

“What?” Lewis isn’t sure what he’d been expecting. But this wasn’t it. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean.” Charles’ knuckles tighten. Almost as white as the Greek statues Lewis shamelessly compares him to. “Don’t make me say it.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean!”

Lewis is getting frustrated. His angel is clearly grappling with demons. Light against dark. And in the dead of the night, the dark is clearly winning the battle.

“Suzuka!” Charles whirls around, tears shining on his cheeks, voice breaking. “My wing broke, and you were behind me, and I didn’t know, they didn’t tell me, the car felt fine! It felt fine…” He is rambling, voice rising in the process.

Lewis sighs, pulling the young driver into his arms. Suzuka. Of course. It was always Suzuka. It explained why Charles had been so off. “It’s all right, shhh.” He cards his fingers through Charles’ hair. “I’ll be right back, ok?”

Lewis slips back inside, grabbing a blanket off the couch, and quickly returns. Charles is still standing where he’d left him, shivering in the fall air. The Mercedes driver drapes the blanket over the Monegasque’s shoulders. “Come on, kid. Let’s go back to bed.”

Charles follows without argument or resistance. Just as compliant as earlier in the night but without the erotic undertone. Now is the hour of exhaustion. Lewis guids the Monegasque back through the house, into the bedroom.

“You should hate me.” The words are murmured into Lewis’ shoulder. “Why don’t you hate me?”

Lewis sighs. Again. Why can’t Charles accept his affection, his adoration for him, comes without conditions? “Because you are a rare bright spot, in this dark, dark world,” Lewis says, while pushing Charles back into bed. “And who am I to snuff that out.”

“A soon to be six-time world champion,” Charles mumbles, eyes already closing as his head hits the thousand-thread-count pillow.

“As you someday will be.” Lewis presses a kiss to Charles forehead. “Good night sweet prince.”

**Author's Note:**

> back on my bullshit with this pairing. whenever I write about Lewis I feel like using religious motifs and Charles is just so....Shakespearean. so you get this mess.
> 
> feel free to yell at me below!


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